


impossible dreams (like starlight)

by CoaxionUnlimited



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Dancing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoaxionUnlimited/pseuds/CoaxionUnlimited
Summary: Garrus isn't the only person on the ship who knows how to dance.
Relationships: Samara/Female Shepard (Mass Effect)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2020





	impossible dreams (like starlight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisylla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisylla/gifts).



“You should’ve come.” Shepard breaks the silence of the starboard observation deck with all the grace of a battering ram. Samara has to repress a flinch, and then her annoyance at herself. Shepard rarely makes noise when she walks, even in full armor, but the presence of her mind is loud, unmistakable. Samara should not have missed it. “You’d have enjoyed it.”

“Shepard, I appreciate your efforts to include me, but they are unnecessary, truly. In any case, my presence is not the sort that improves parties.”

Not anymore, at least. Samara is choosing not to say that aloud. Should Shepard get wind of the misadventures in her maiden years - or even some of those she’d undertaken as a matron - the prying would be relentless. And her delight would be intolerable.

Samara does not think of the crooked beauty of Shepard’s rare, true smiles. Undue appreciation for such things would not be seemly for a justicar.

“Most of my squad isn’t great at parties,” Shepard replies. Samara is not looking at her, but she can imagine the folded arms, the jut of her hip. “But we managed to have fun anyways. The point isn’t to make it perfect.”

“I know,” Samara says, casting Shepard a sideways glance. “I have attended one or two parties in my time, Shepard. But that part of my life is well and truly over.”

Shepard huffs. “I read the justicar code when we took you on, you know.” Samara does know, Shepard had asked her for a copy. “I haven’t memorized it or anything, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t see a ban on having fun.”

“Perhaps you weren’t looking hard enough.” Samara can’t help a small smile. “Joking aside, Shepard, it has been a long time since such things as unit cohesion have been of concern for me.” Shepard’s aura clouds with offense and Samara shakes her head in response. “I am well aware you are worried about us working together. I do not begrudge your efforts to unify us. I simply doubt that a large gathering of people in a space such as Afterlife would be enjoyable to me.”

“I rented a room for it,” Shepard mumbles. “Jack wouldn’t be comfortable in the open in that place. It was her party. I wanted her to enjoy it.”

“I did not accuse you of not caring for us, Shepard.” Samara takes care to keep her voice even and soothing. “Or for her. I simply pointed out that you had more than one motivation.”

“She’d have appreciated it if you went,” Shepard sounds slightly softer. “I’d have appreciated it. It was a team thing.”

“I did some reading on human birthday customs.” Samara replies. “And I took the liberty of buying her a present.”

Shepard’s aura lightens. “What did you get her? What did she say?”

Jack had, as a matter of fact, all but cried when Samara had presented her with a small volume of asari poetry, wrapped in a piece of soft blue cloth she’d been gifted on Omala, a small asari settlement known for its weaving. She had then sworn Samara into silence on both the gift and her reaction. Well, she’d attempted to threaten Samara into silence, but the solemn oath of a justicar had seemed to appease her.

“That is private.” Samara will not break her oath, and she knows Jack would object to her telling of its existence. “But I do think she liked it.”

“Was it another shotgun?” Shepard sounds delighted. “I bet it was. I should have thought of that. Might have kept her from making fun of me - she said the best present at the party was being able to make fun of my dancing.”

“Your- dancing?”

“Yes?” Shepard pads over towards the window to give Samara a look. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it already - I can’t dance to save my life. I thought Donnelly had shared that video with the entire ship by now.”

“Shepard, I’ve seen you fight.” Samara drops her meditation pose to frown at the other woman. “You cannot possibly be that bad at dancing.”

“No, no, you’re right. I’m worse - I was trying really hard for the video.” Shepard hangs her head in mock shame.

Samara stands and sets her hands on her hips. “The battlefield requires no less grace and timing than a dance. In fact, the kata of many asari martial arts come from the basic forms of our traditional dance. I am sure that you are not incapable of it.”

“You haven’t seen me try.” Shepard wiggles in front of the windows, her hands waving in the air above her head. “See? Terrible.”

“Try this.” Samara extends her arm, fingers cupped to evoke a flower. She follows it with a foot and spins, drawing her hand in close as though to protect it. It’s the first movement of First Spring, a dance meant to evoke life, growth, rebirth. Those are not steps Shepard would dance for herself, but Samara can not help but see her in them. One only needs to look at Jack to see Shepard opening possibilities that another would think closed forever.

“I - I don’t think I even know where to start with that.” Shepard is eying her warily. Samara drops the pose and steps closer to her. 

“Start with the hand,” she instructs, gently folding Shepard’s fingers into the proper shape. “And push it out. Show it to the world.”

Shepard mimics the gesture acceptably well. “Then I do the foot, right?”

“Yes.” Shepard had clearly been watching her more closely than she’d let on. She’s balancing her weight perfectly, most on the back foot, the ball of the foot she’s extended barely touching the ground. Such things are difficult to do in the clunky boots she wears aboard the ship, but Shepard is managing. “And spin.”

Here is where it falls apart - the toe of Shepard’s boot catches against the floor, heavy rubber tread ill-suited for a spin, and she overbalances with a curse. Samara darts forward before she can think the motion through, catching Shepard’s arms in her own so the other woman stumbles with a grunt into her collarbone instead of crashing to the floor.

“See,” Shepard says grumpily, lifting her head and weight off Samara. “I’m hopeless.”

“Hardly,” Samara chides. “That was excellent for a first attempt.”

“I don’t think most dance students start off with a faceplant,” she grumbles. She sounds almost flattered, though, and she glances up at Samara through her lashes as she says it, as though to gage her sincerity.

It is then that Samara realizes that, though Shepard is now standing on her own feet and supporting her own weight, she hasn’t let go of her. Shepard’s fingers are wrapped around her forearms, just before the elbow, and she is mirroring it, gently gripping the underside of the other woman’s arm.

They are very close.

Samara steps back as she notices this, and Shepard mirrors her. Yet neither of them let go. It is almost more intimate this way, brushing her fingertips over Shepard’s bare skin until they touch her palm. Shepard curls her hands, gently gripping Samara’s fingers. The contrast is odd, brown skin against blue, but Samara can’t help but find it pleasing.

“Samara,” Shepard says, the lilt of a question in her voice, “I don’t suppose you know any asari dances for two people?”

“This one,” Samara says, trying not to read anything into that, “is called First Spring. And it is quite traditional to do as a pair. That is, if you would like to learn.”

Shepard grins at her, bright and crooked, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Samara’s heart skips a beat.

“I would love to.” Her hands curl a little around Samara’s, gently squeezing her fingertips.

This will only bring trouble and grief, Samara knows, but that is a problem she can manage in the morning.


End file.
